


Worthy of Friendship

by Oilan



Series: A Dilettante in Fur [3]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: A tabby cat - Freeform, Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oilan/pseuds/Oilan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is no easy matter to win a cat’s love, for cats are philosophical, sedate, quiet animals, fond of their own way, liking cleanliness and order, and not apt to bestow their affection hastily. They are quite willing to be friends, if you prove worthy of their friendship, but they decline to be slaves. They are affectionate, but they exercise free will, and will not do for you what they consider to be unreasonable."<br/>-Théophile Gautier, <em>Ménagerie intime</em></p><p>Combeferre sets himself to a seemingly impossible task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthy of Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [amelancholycharm](http://amelancholycharm.tumblr.com) for the beta!

_The beast had been in Enjolras’ flat for far too long._

Though Combeferre let this thought slip into his mind from time to time, he was always quick to push it aside. Enjolras could do whatever he liked with his own rooms. Regardless of the nature of their relationship, Combeferre knew he had absolutely no say in the matter. _And yet…_

Having never owned one, Combeferre could not account for what was ordinary behavior in cats nor, indeed, what was ordinary behavior in cat _owners._

It was normal, Combeferre supposed, for owners to speak to their animals as though they could understand. It was odd, at first, to listen to Enjolras ask Gilbert the cat – in _mock_ seriousness, Combeferre hoped more than once – for his opinion on his latest piece of writing for their Society. Gilbert had evidently approved, for he curled up in Enjolras’ lap, purring loudly.

But talking to a cat on occasion was innocuous, surely. Any little eccentricity of Enjolras could always be forgiven by Combeferre. This was not the main problem. Combeferre was certain that if any other creature acted the way this cat acted, Enjolras would never allow it to stay in his apartment. It was as if they were living with a wild beast.

The massive creature would steal food straight from one’s hand or fork on the way to their mouths. It tore holes in the mattress and armchair, and was consequently sick in Enjolras’ shoe after eating a bit of the stuffing. On a near nightly basis, something would appear to snap in the cat’s mind and it would race around the room wildly until it seemed nothing more than an orange blur, heedless of any objects or people in the way, until it grew tired and subsequently demanded food through loud, incessant cries. When bored, the animal loved nothing better to sit on the desk or the shelf and knock pens or mugs carelessly to the ground. Following all of this wanton destruction, the cat appeared completely unconcerned with its own sins and would sleep peacefully on Enjolras’ sole cushion, or else curl up in his lap. Enjolras never punished the creature; he merely ignored the behavior or picked up the mess before getting on with whatever he had been doing. Surely other cats did not act in this manner.

This appalling feline conduct was only the beginning. Gilbert seemed to have some personal vendetta against Combeferre- something Combeferre certainly had not noticed when the cat belonged to Joly. It would stare malevolently at Combeferre if he so much as passed nearby. He frequently took up Combeferre’s usual seat on the tiny divan, would stretch out and block Combeferre completely from his side of the bed, and always refused to move. Occasionally, Combeferre would find one or both of his shoes damp and smelling strongly of ammonia. Once, on a particularly wretched day, Combeferre had nearly finished with pages upon pages of notes for his internship, only to have the cat leap up on the desk, look him straight in the eye, and cough up a hairball all over them.

As maddening as it could be, Combeferre supposed that he could live with even all of this. What was it to him if the creature despised him? He could always escape to his lodgings at Necker and do all of his work elsewhere, despite spending a good portion of his days and nights in Enjolras’ flat. He purposefully did not think about how, with their mutual sense of discretion and Combeferre’s inability to sneak Enjolras into Necker after sunset, most of their acts of affection and intimacy were confined to Enjolras’ small room. The situation was perfectly fine. He reminded himself of this several times each day.

Yet even false optimism can be dashed.

The final straw had been on one of those rare and blessed days where there was nothing pressing to do, no one to meet, no urgency to be anywhere in particular. Enjolras and Combeferre had easily tempted each other to bed, caught up in one another without any distraction. It was proving to be a very pleasant afternoon, the sort that was disappointingly uncommon, and the pair was much too preoccupied to notice anything else around them.

It was perhaps the quick motions of Enjolras’ hand halfway down the bed, as he leaned over Combeferre to kiss him, that had caught the cat’s attention. The cat, mistaking the movement for prey, had pounced, and Combeferre had yelled so loudly it brought the landlady pounding at Enjolras’ door in alarm. Enjolras, hastily clad in a dressing gown, was forced to make awkward excuses through a crack in the door while Combeferre hid under the blankets, nursing both wounds and pride.

This had been the breaking point. The following day Combeferre had walked, or rather limped, to Joly’s.

“Let me clarify, because I must not be understanding you,” said Joly, after Combeferre had been invited in and had said his piece. “You would like me to take back the cat?”

“Yes. _Please._ ”

“The very cat whose affection I was so upset about losing? And yet after confiding my feelings to you, I was met with stern disapproval.”

“I _did_ try to persuade Enjolras to see your side of things,” said Combeferre, though he had deflated significantly in guilt.

“You did indeed. And I was helpfully reminded-“ Here, Joly smiled and nodded to Bossuet, who was seated across the room, watching the conversation with amusement. “-that sometimes the feelings of our friends should be placed before our own.”

“Be that as it may, I was under the impression that you were only letting Enjolras keep him until your last anatomy exam was finished. That was _weeks_ ago.”

“It _was,_ but I’ve had my hands quite full here. Enjolras may keep Gilbert if he wants him; I have already told him so. I have enough little feline mouths to feed as it is.” Joly waved a hand to a dark nook between the bookshelf and coatrack, though Combeferre could not see what was there from his seat.

“Perhaps you should make peace with the cat,” said Bossuet. “That is my advice, and exactly what I did- regardless of the evils that animal inflicted upon me and my best pair of trousers, which are now shredded and beyond all hope.”

“I will by no means hear a word against Gilbert!” Joly said, attempting to be sanctimonious but unable to suppress a grin. “He is a great and noble animal- the very best of his species. Though he is cursed with a fickle heart, I will always think of him fondly. And I _am_ sorry, Combeferre,” Joly added. “No matter what I say.”

“Well, perhaps I _would_ do better to get the cat to like me,” Combeferre mused. “We’d all be happier for it.”

“You see!” Joly said, smiling with much more confidence than Combeferre felt. “The solution is simple. All you must do now is to go and enact it!”

On his way out, Combeferre peered into the nook Joly had indicated earlier. There, in a cozy nest of blankets, was a black and white cat lying on its side. When he leaned closer to get a better look, he realized the cat was curled around something: a brood of four little kittens. One resembled the mother, a tiny black creature with white paws, but the other three were vastly different- orange, striped, and so rotund they were nearly spherical.

 _The disease spreads,_ Combeferre thought, and walked quickly from the room.

 

* * *

 

Several days later, Combeferre was still very much disgruntled as he ascended the steps to Enjolras’ flat. Yet the sight that greeted him as he stepped through the door dissolved those feelings almost instantly.

Sitting in his favorite armchair, Enjolras was reading over a stack of correspondence with a steaming cup of coffee at his elbow, the enormous cat fast asleep in his lap. One hand was at the cat’s back, stroking the fluffy fur idly. He raised his head and smiled when Combeferre entered, still, for once, from peace and contentment rather than pensiveness. Warmth settled into Combeferre’s chest. How could he have taken steps to ensure a scene like this would never greet him again?

There was nothing else he could do. He would have to win over Gilbert.

 

* * *

 

How could one win over a cat? What did cats enjoy? Gilbert certainly seemed to enjoy digging his claws into the furniture, but Combeferre’s budget could never accommodate an endless supply of armchairs for the cat to destroy.

Gilbert’s second-favorite passion seemed to be for food, if his spherical frame and the way he greedily gobbled up any morsel Enjolras offered him were any indication. Therefore, the next time Combeferre dined with his friends at the Corinthe, he ordered the carp, despite the looks of sheer horror Courfeyrac was casting him from across the table, and saved a bit of it in his handkerchief to take home.

Any hopes Combeferre may have had for his plan faded quickly; the cat merely sniffed at the fish once he had opened the handkerchief and set it on the floor.

“It’s perfectly fine,” said Combeferre, despite feeling rather ill from his dinner. He crouched down and held up a piece of carp for the cat to inspect, but Gilbert simply sniffed it again and wandered away.

“Perhaps Madame Hucheloup’s cooking is not to his liking,” Enjolras said bracingly. He had been watching all of this transpire with bemusement.

“Perhaps.” Combeferre sighed and wobbled over to the bed to lay down and wait out his belly ache.

The following morning, the napkin was empty and Combeferre awoke to a partially eviscerated mouse on his pillow.

“You are very disagreeable in the morning,” Enjolras observed groggily, after being awoken by Combeferre’s disgusted noise.

_“Look at this!”_

“Gilbert caught you a gift; don’t be upset. If you were a cat instead of a human, it would have been better received and appreciated.”

Combeferre attributed this little flight of fancy to Enjolras’ tiredness, though idly considered, as he disposed of the mouse and nudged Enjolras over to share his pillow, that being a cat would certainly make it easier to navigate a friendship with one.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps simpler gestures could work equally well as offering the cat treats. Gilbert did not seem to be a particularly refined nor complicated animal. One of the cat’s greatest joys appeared to be sitting on Enjolras’ lap while he worked or read, idly stroking the animal’s head but not paying it any special attention. Enjolras himself certainly had not done anything extraordinary to win the cat’s adoration.

An opportunity soon presented itself. Combeferre and Enjolras had stayed indoors working one Saturday, despite the fine weather. Gilbert had laid himself on the bare floor – for Enjolras did not own a rug – in a patch of sunlight, flat on his back with his legs spread in a most undignified manner. His eyes were shut tight, and he made snuffling noises every now and again. His rounded, soft belly was exposed, and Combeferre could not help recalling the numerous times Gilbert had broken out into very loud purrs at being pet on the head or scratched under the chin.

Combeferre set his book down on the desk and tread quietly over to the cat, who did not stir, and crouched. Gilbert, if he was awake at all, still did not react. He reached a hand down and stroked over the cat’s stomach. He only had a moment to note how very soft Gilbert’s underbelly was before the cat cracked his eyes open, glaring at Combeferre as though he had committed the most vile of atrocities. A second later, his hand was caught in a trap of pointed teeth and sharp claws.

“I was only trying to get on his good side,” Combeferre said, rather more plaintively than he was willing to admit, as Enjolras bandaged his hand.

“Yes, I thought so. You don’t get along, I’ve noticed.”

“Well, I would _like_ to,” Combeferre huffed. “I can’t stand it. I can’t be comfortable; I can’t get anything done here.” He swallowed and added, a little dejectedly: “I- I feel as though can’t spend time with _you_ here.”

Enjolras did not raise his eyes from Combeferre’s hand, and merely continued to hold it and inspect the bandaging far longer than was necessary. "There is no need to try so hard.”

“There _is._ ”

“There isn’t.” Enjolras finally looked him in the face and smiled a little. “I don’t think cats appreciate when one tries hard for their affection. One must be as nonchalant as they are _themselves_.” Combeferre frowned at him, baffled, and Enjolras continued: “But as the advice of sitting back and doing nothing does not appeal to you, I would suggest paper balls. A cat may pretend to be dignified, but I’ve never seen anything quite like Gilbert’s enthusiasm for chasing after a simple paper ball.”

 

* * *

 

They set about it as soon as Combeferre’s hand had stopped smarting. After rolling up a bit of scrap paper into just the perfect consistency, Enjolras held it up for the cat to see, waving it a bit to get his attention. Though he had been lazing on the window ledge for most of the afternoon, Gilbert perked up immediately. His sharp eyes followed the plaything’s every movement.

When Enjolras finally tossed the paper ball, the cat, to Combeferre’s utter astonishment, tore after it eagerly, batting at it, twisting this way and that, waddling faster than anyone would have thought possible given his round frame. Eventually, Enjolras retrieved the ball, threw it again, and they watched Gilbert joyfully run after it once more. This process was repeated several more times, until Combeferre was laughing at the cat’s antics, and the cat was wheezing with exertion.

Eventually, Enjolras passed the toy to Combeferre, who tossed it. He half expected the cat to ignore it, as it was he and not Enjolras who threw it, but he was wrong; Gilbert gave chase as happily as ever. They continued the game for a short while, with Enjolras simply sitting back and watching contentedly.

There reached a point where Gilbert caught the crumpled paper and trapped it between his paws, refusing to release it. With the mind to somehow persuade the cat to give up the paper so that it might be thrown again, Combeferre inched forward, hand outstretched.

Gilbert flattened his ears against his head and growled, then swiped at Combeferre’s hand with his claws, barely missing him. The cat gave him one last venomous look and bolted under the bed, the paper skittering away across the room.

There was nothing left to be done; Combeferre realized this with a heavy heart. Enjolras seemed to sense something of what he was feeling, because he gave Combeferre a defeated sort of look as they were getting under the duvet to sleep a few hours later. The cat was watching them carefully from across the room.

“I suppose I’ll have to spend more time at Necker,” said Combeferre, placing his spectacles on the nightstand and curling up on his side.

Enjolras did not reply, and merely looked at him sadly for a long moment before leaning down to kiss his temple and lay behind him, holding him close.

 

* * *

 

Combeferre woke early the next morning but did not open his eyes right away. Enjolras had gone; he had several pieces to take to the printer’s as soon as the shop had opened, and Combeferre knew without looking that he had left him a note on the nightstand saying where he had gone and when he would return.

Just as he had slipped into a doze again, Combeferre was abruptly awoken by something large heaving itself onto the mattress beside him. Before he could even groan in exasperation, he felt a cold nose sniffing his cheek, and several small licks to the tip of his nose. He cracked his eyes open.

Gilbert was staring into his face with great round eyes, purring thunderously. Combeferre froze, dreading whatever was to come. The cat, perhaps impatient with his inaction, nuzzled his face with surprising force and began kneading the blankets beneath him, which began to fray under his claws. With no small amount of trepidation, Combeferre reached up and scratched the cat between the ears. Gilbert acted as though this was the greatest thing he had ever experienced. He closed his eyes and pushed his head up into Combeferre’s touch, purring louder than ever.

“You are a devious thing,” said Combeferre disbelievingly, voice rough with sleep. “A very devious thing. You think, despite your appalling behavior, you can ensnare us all, don’t you?” This was said with amusement rather than malice. The cat blinked at him slowly, seeming to agree. He moved his hand to scratch along the cat’s spine towards its tail, and the cat arched its back, still kneading its paws. Once Combeferre dropped his hand again, Gilbert settled up against his chest and tucked his paws beneath himself.

Combeferre was not aware of falling back asleep. He was not aware, later on, of the door to the flat opening and closing, nor of Enjolras’ footsteps as he entered and then stopped on the threshold to smile at the sight before him.

It was a few hours later before Combeferre woke again. Gilbert was still lying against his chest; Enjolras had returned and had curled himself behind Combeferre, his arm thrown over both of them, fast asleep. It was well past time to get up for the day, as there was always work to be done, but instead Combeferre settled back down again, perfectly content to stay exactly where he was.


End file.
